


Curses

by dragonshost



Series: Dragon's Armada Project [15]
Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: F/M, could not resist, mentions of child abuse, please forgive the long hamlet quote at the end, though if i was really going for parallels i should have gone with macbeth, what with the parallels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-10-24 07:53:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10737381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonshost/pseuds/dragonshost
Summary: They have their curses to bear.





	Curses

* * *

_"You are a cursed monster."_

Macbeth had heard those words more times than he could count over the course of his life.

_Cursed child with two toned hair._

_Cursed child with eerie, unfocused blood-red eyes._

_Cursed child that killed his mother when he was born._

The words were burned into his skull. Screaming voices, and heavy hands. Purpling bruises left across his pallid skin.

And he couldn't help but agree with them. After all, what sort of monster looked at the burning village, the dying villagers at the hands of the laughing cultists, and thought, _"Good riddance"?_

Being taken to the Tower just seemed an extension of his curse. Barely a change from before. At the end of the day, Macbeth was still bruised, still curled in on himself, shutting out the tidal waves of noise and pain.

All he wanted to do was sleep. In dreamless sleep there was no pain, no suffering. No screaming voices.

And was it any real wonder that his magic, when it manifested, had been one that kept everyone at bay? One that could rewrite reality to be as he himself already saw it? Full of monsters, of terror and hate and pain. To show others how he saw them, and to keep them from hurting him more. To let him sleep, at last, in peace?

Brain had seen in him potential where others had seen only a curse. He'd wanted that. Clung to it.

But that had been a lie, too.

He would never allow another to reach beyond the reflector ever again.

So why was it that _she_ was able to breach his defenses so easily? Get behind his guard with her kind smile?

Why was it that he wanted to let her in?

* * *

_"Cursed demon spawn!"_

Mirajane was no stranger to taunts, to hatred. Her appearance was monstrous. She already knew that. Better than anyone. Even years later, she still felt the sharp sting of stones against her skin, cuts long since healed bleeding.

But Fairy Tail had given her another chance. Makarov and her siblings had shown her that her power - while terrible - could be used to protect the ones she cared for most. After all... that was how she had acquired it in the first place.

So she couldn't just stand by, when she saw another like her. A person cursed by their own magic, by their life circumstances.

Demons could eat poison, and curses.

And she would free him from his.

* * *

**To be, or not to be- that is the question:**  
**Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer**  
**The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune**  
**Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,**  
**And by opposing end them. To die- to sleep-**  
**No more; and by a sleep to say we end**  
**The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks**  
**That flesh is heir to. 'Tis a consummation**  
**Devoutly to be wish'd. To die- to sleep.**  
**To sleep- perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub!**  
**For in that sleep of death what dreams may come**  
**When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,**  
**Must give us pause. There's the respect**  
**That makes calamity of so long life.**  
**For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,**  
**Th' oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,**  
**The pangs of despis'd love, the law's delay,**  
**The insolence of office, and the spurns**  
**That patient merit of th' unworthy takes,**  
**When he himself might his quietus make**  
**With a bare bodkin? Who would these fardels bear,**  
**To grunt and sweat under a weary life,**  
**But that the dread of something after death-**  
**The undiscover'd country, from whose bourn**  
**No traveller returns- puzzles the will,**  
**And makes us rather bear those ills we have**  
**Than fly to others that we know not of?**  
**Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,**  
**And thus the native hue of resolution**  
**Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,**  
**And enterprises of great pith and moment**  
**With this regard their currents turn awry**  
**And lose the name of action.- Soft you now!**  
**The fair Ophelia!- Nymph, in thy orisons**  
**Be all my sins rememb'red.**

**_-Hamlet, Act III, Scene I_ **


End file.
